


Told me pick my battles and be picking 'em wise

by carsneedle



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carsneedle/pseuds/carsneedle
Summary: Roy didn’t sleep at all anymore. But given the chance, he wasn’t sure he’d make whatever pact with the Devil that Kimblee had.
Kudos: 9





	1. Laughing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this probably at least 10 years ago for a friend.

The lieutenant led him to his bunk in the makeshift army camp.  
“You’ll be rooming with…Zolf. J. Kimblee,” the man reported, reading the name off a clipboard as they stopped in front of the room. He wondered what sort of person his roommate would be, tried to figure it out from the sound of his name.  
He wasn’t much, skinny with dark hair. His eyes were wild.  
He stared at him like his skin wasn’t there. As if he could see all his secrets.  
Then he laughed, as if he found all of these secrets to be terribly dull in comparison with his own. He brushed past him on his way out of the room, still laughing.


	2. Crying

He’d been there maybe a week. It was hard to believe he’d lasted that long without killing someone.   
They were walking back to the bunk, not something they usually did. Just the result of the two of them happening to be in the same place at the same time.   
“How do you deal with it?” he’d asked. He couldn’t stop the flood of emotion that came next, pressing his face into Kimblee’s shoulder. His uniform smelled so clean and natural, but there was something more animalistic about Kimblee’s smell. For a moment it unsettled him, but that human craving for the touch of another’s skin overrode his momentary hesitation.  
He tried to stop the sobs. Just let a few tears out and be done with it. But it was like asking Mother Nature to give up on a downpour after she’d let a few raindrops fall. Impossible to stop the flood.   
He sobbed like he thought he’d choke, drowning and gasping.  
Regain control, regain control, he told himself.   
He breathed.


	3. Breathing

Kimblee was so peaceful while he was asleep. All of the strangeness about him was gone when his eyes were closed and body immobile. Roy would have lain there for the rest of his life, unmoving, just to have Kimbly next to him like that, just breathing. Watching his chest rise and fall, counting out the seconds. So still. So easy to pretend that every choice was that easy. 

Roy wondered if Kimblee could hear his heart beating like it might explode. Hear him gasping for breath. He felt like he was cracking into a thousand tiny fragments, like if he didn’t get a grip on all of the little pieces they would just fly off into the air before he could collect them. 

He could feel Kimblee’s body pressed against him, his breath whispering on the back of his neck, tickling his ears, his cheek.


	4. Dancing

Sometimes, he would twitch in his sleep. Just little movements, but enough to stir the sheets and make the bunk squeak. 

Kimblee slept like a rock, to the point he didn’t notice he was moving. It was the peaceful sleep of an innocent child with nothing to fear, no thoughts, nothing on his mind or conscience. 

Roy didn’t sleep at all anymore. But given the chance, he wasn’t sure he’d make whatever pact with the Devil that Kimblee had.


	5. Drinking

Except for the liquor. That was the only thing that quieted his mind. 

Except this relief was temporary. Ending in vomiting so violent he thought he would break in half. 

He’d lie on the floor, inside out for everyone to see, and Kimblee would walk by as though he didn’t even see him, like he had melted into the floor in a puddle of his own human weakness.


	6. Bleeding

Roy cut himself shaving. Accidently. These days it was hard for him to keep his hands steady enough to do anything like that. The tiny trickle of red cut its way down his face. He watched it in the mirror, making sure he didn’t get blood on his uniform, as he reached for a towel.

He froze. Kimblee’s face was in the mirror, reflecting where he sat on the bed. The look of hunger on his face as he stared at the line of red made his stomach turn. Scared him to the point he couldn’t think, only react with animal instinct. 

He snatched the towel up, pressing it to his face. Turning away.


	7. Smiling

Cleaning up. An unfortunate part of the job. If there was anything he hated the most, it would be the bodies. He couldn’t get away from them; they already haunted his mind, and having to touch them was like living his nightmares. The smell of burning skin never went away.

Kimblee never seemed to mind.

He cradled the broken body in his arms like a mother carrying a child. He lowered it to the stretcher with loving tenderness. And then he smiled.

Roy stood up and hurried into the nearby alleyway, ducking behind a pile of broken bricks so that no one would see him throw up.


	8. Dying

There were two ways out. One was reflected in shiny brass, pinned to a uniform with pleats sharp enough to cut.

The other was in handcuffs. 

He knew, he’d always known that it would end like this. He’d known what would happen if he’d crossed the line. 

His uniform was clean, his shoes polished. He stood at attention, neat, groomed, everything they wanted him to be. He would sit there and bear witness to this trial.

Kimblee would die. One day, if not soon. He’d pay.

But Roy would live.


End file.
